


Nantaimori

by murakistags



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Food Kink, Food is People, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Mouth Kink, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Sushi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6625246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakistags/pseuds/murakistags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hungry Hannibal, a very naked Will, sushi and soy sauce, and a dining room table.</p><p>Nantaimori (男体盛り/なんたいもり)<br/>[nahn-tah-ee-moh-ri]<br/>– n. The Japanese practice of serving sushi or sashimi upon the naked body of a male.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nantaimori

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chiiaroscuro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiiaroscuro/gifts).



> This is the product of too-sinful conversations about Hannigram with Xenogenetic. Yes, I know the eating-sushi-from-body thing is a topic in the fandom that's been written about before in this manner…but this is my little take and twist on it. Sin sin sin sin sin sin.
> 
> I apologize for any typos! This hasn't been beta'd. Enjoy.

"…I can't _believe_ I let you sweet-talk me into doing this."

"If I recall correctly, William, there was precious little objection on your part. Unless you have lied to me and no longer wish to do this."

Will's grunt, faint scrunching of his face, and subsequent silence is audible acquiescence enough that the doctor doesn't feel the need to prod him further on that matter.

With all the dignified pomp of a product presenter, no sooner has Dr. Hannibal Lecter uttered those few accented words does his maroon gaze flicker up to meet beautiful tides of roiling ocean in Will's own gaze. Their gazes together always clash so perfectly and yet mold together in a manner most needy and feral, wanton. Hannibal, over the years, has developed quite a strange relationship with the man now currently laying supine and bare across his dining room table, and part of that strange relationship is learning to base love around perception, and understanding. Such is the case now, as he stares into those blue eyes and sees clearly not a single modicum of hesitance even in spite of the words from Will's mildly-chapped lips.

 _Excellent_.

There's just a moment of pause then, and by the time Will's tongue darts out to soothe the breath-chaffed skin of his pink lips, Hannibal has strategically placed a little piece of sushi right upon the tender skin of Will Graham's exposed groin. That flaccid length of cock laid bare across Will's lower belly, tanned, smooth in contrast to jutting bones of toned hips, is decorated just last, with a delicate touch made _certain_ to not connect skin with skin.

In fact, Hannibal's skin has not made contact with Will's own at all through this odd(ly arousing) encounter so far, and perhaps that is why– combined with the precarious placement of rolled sushi– Will finds a breathless whine of a grunt passing his freshly-moist lips. The colour of his cheeks is marvelous and stark to the scraggly hair along Will's lower face, and there is not a single detail of this moment that Hannibal doesn't etch to the grandiose walls of his memory palace. This one moment is everything to be remembered, such a delicacy and a rare pleasure that he once might have never believed to come true.

But that smiling, ragged scar along Will's lower belly is lined across with three well-crafted delicacies of sticky rice, succulent (human) flesh in strips so thin they are almost translucent, around a roll of fresh seaweed and innards of fresh vegetables…and all is forgiven. Forgiveness had been a bloody and violent varying slope along the earth from that fateful time in Hannibal's kitchen when the teacup shattered across his floor. Cracked though it may be, the golden-patched pieces have come together again, though time may very well never reverse. These scars on Will's flesh are indicative of this much: memories and experiences to last more than a lifetime, to paint the walls of memory palace with images blurred and distorted by change, love, passion too earnest… Even now, looking down upon Will Graham's perfect body moving only barely with shallow breath lest he displace the food meticulously placed all across his naked skin, Hannibal Lecter's mind is awash with memories as delicious as this man will taste. It's almost as if they share this unspoken moment too well, for the slight shiver flecked with goose pimples shudders down the spine of the empath, and he shifts the faintest bit.

Head resting upon a plated decor of fresh flower blossoms and herbs (serving as very little– if at all– as a cushion for those curls), Will is reclined there. From those messy chocolate hairs swirling around like living tendrils of morning coffee vanishing beneath softer shades of milk, to the more coarse, prickly hairs of his face, the younger man looks strangely content and quiet. His mind is contemplative, anticipatory, and it hides away just perfectly in that bone arena there, manifests tangibly in nothing more than a thin-lipped, quiet and steady breathing as if he is just merely taking a respite on this beautiful spring evening, rather than literally becoming dinner for a cannibalistic serial killer. For a moment there is indeed a fleeting thought that perhaps Will's put entirely too much faith into the psychiatrist's skilled surgical hands, into that brilliant and manipulative mind that had lured him in– hook, line, and sinker– from the very start. Here he is, a human platter of sushi upon an expensive dining table at which he and Hannibal in this new life have shared many meals, misunderstandings, sexual experiences, lengthy contemplations. No, he is not wrong in allowing this trust into Hannibal's hands. He never was.

One piece of sushi is at the base of Will's neck right at the hollow of his throat, and moving lower there are two more resting lightly upon either nipple. Further south is a trail of four, right in the midline of Will's toned torso, leading down to those few curving purposefully along a telltale lower-abdominal scar. Lower still and four more pieces of the homemade sushi are presenting Will's length like a prize– and of course the good doctor will start from the top, down. Each little portion of food is spaced proportionately from the next, leaving room for…well, Hannibal's mouth to tease. This is such a pleasure for his own oral fixation, but Hannibal would be damned to be selfish, to _not_ retaliate this arousing exquisiteness to his beloved.

In his perfectly-pressed and tailored three-piece slate suit accented by paisley tie in warm shades of crimson and ivory, Dr. Lecter stands tall aside the long edge of dining table, and admires his creation. Will Graham is presented like a feast, one living and breathing and now growing mildly to unrest with how long he's been enduring the psychiatrist's almost obsessive planning above all else. It is a _beautiful_ feast, and Hannibal's tongue practically salivates with the sight that it is all _his_ , it belongs to him. His own sweet, sweet boy, the food he himself has prepared to perfection, the home he and Will had erected together in this life fresh and new which feels often like a most blissful daydream bathed in sunlight, sweet cream, and thick, fragrant tulip petals all colours of the rainbow… it is _perfect_. Will believes it is beautiful just the same, though his cheeks burn and he can feel the strain already on his bare back from being upon hard surface and unable to shift his solid weight any more than centimetres in either direction.

The homemade sushi is people. Even the serving platter is people– his _favourite_ person, in fact. What could _possibly_ constitute a better meal for the peculiar whims of Dr. Hannibal Lecter?

One hand takes ahold of expensive, ornate silver spoon ducked into salty, dark liquid within a small, decorative glass chalice beside the supine empath. With a practiced flick of his wrist used both in the kitchen and operating room many a time, the doctor raises his hand, and allows a tentative few drops of the dark soy sauce to dribble down onto the center of Will's chest, just below the first piece of sushi at the base of his throat.

Immediately, Will parts his lips with a small gasp, and his lashes flutter to open eyes. He hadn't expected that so soon, and Hannibal had given not a bit of warning. The empath hadn't been prepared enough for the sight: Above him is Hannibal with pupils dilated and dark, _hungry_ and handsome with his sharp cheekbones, slicked hair, and every effect of his three-piece perfectly in-place. It's a wondrous sight that Will had been granted access to many a time in their lovemaking, their experiences in pain and hurt both physical and emotion during days in collusion with the F.B.I. But this time, there is a difference to it all. Sure, the two men had dabbled in talk of food-play, eating, tongues and teeth and sinful swallowing…but never had it so concretely come to fruition until now. It has Will Graham barely repressing a shiver as that cool soy sauce meets the warmth of his taut skin, and he is eyed very much like a dish to be entirely consumed. Losing himself in those blown-out maroon eyes and offering himself wholly up to the cannibal had Hannibal inwardly keening with delight, and the empath growing unshockingly aroused.

The very second Hannibal has leaned down and in close, nostrils flaring with an inhale seconds before tongue laps up along small trail of soy sauce to then pluck first piece of sushi with his sharp teeth, Will can feel his cock spring to life. Hannibal is so _close_ to him, eating him and off of him, that Will swears that he can _taste_ it himself. He is unable to repress a small noise from parted lips now breathing a bit heavier already, and even the very minute sound is like an entire symphony to Hannibal's ears. Long ago Hannibal had resigned himself to never find any sound quite as pleasing to his senses as that of Will Graham's voice breathless and/or in the throes of pleasure however slight…not even the complex bars of Bach on the harpsichord, not even an Italian opera, can compete with that specific tremor to Will's voice. Now, the initial sound from the empath is positively sinful– Hannibal is not at all opposed to the feeling definitely soon-to-come of his own length throbbing painfully in the confines of his smooth slacks.

"Delicious," Hannibal's honeyed voice whispers across that skin slick with saliva now that one piece of sushi has been chewed and swallowed, savoured completely, and every last stray droplet of soy sauce with it has been lapped away. That tongue and those teeth are the only things that tease Will today, and no more. Aside from the one hand navigating the spoon to and from the soy sauce and above the writhing empath upon his dinner table, Hannibal's other arm is held behind him, across his own lower back with fingers loosely draped there to resist the ever-present temptation to touch the younger male. It's an easy temptation to resist for the doctor, when he can see how much more effective it is in withdrawing delicious reactions from Will based upon solely the ministrations of his mouth. It's almost like a religious experience, impassioned and heated and full of awe, delight, fulfillment that seeps in far more deeply than at the level of skin.

Hannibal's mouth is indulgent, paying every inch of the empath's food-plated skin just perfect attention. From that dip of throat, to the strong relief of clavicles jutting further with each breath growing ragged, to the way he sucks, nibbles, and laps at both pert nipples soon freed of sushi and soy sauce in the area around. Working the decadent flesh between his teeth and tongue, the doctor allows his hot breath to fan out coolly across saliva-streaked skin, and is rewarded with shiver after shudder, little moan after little whimper. Hannibal takes his time to savour all of this, moving slowly but methodically in dripping soy sauce upon his precious boy, and then using the flat of his tongue each time to bring lips to a piece of sushi nearby. Not only is the food succulent, but the platter is even more lovely still.

"H-Hannibal–…"

By the very time the doctor has reached pelvis, sucking up and chewing at Will's warm, sensitive flesh with the eating of each sushi piece, the young male is writhing in agony. No longer is his length flaccid, but instead stiff and throbbing betwixt thighs pressed slightly together. Jutting up from between Will's thick thighs is a sight lewd and sinful, with that stiff cock ready to weep with release, the top mildly slick and the shaft smooth and slightly red, engorged with blood and desire. That alone is enough to draw out an approving sound from the doctor, his maroon eyes pausing with his endeavors just to drink in the magnificent sight. Not to mention the way his name is spilled forth in such a wanton, husky moan that he knows all too-well… It makes Hannibal's slacks and underwear soon painfully tight, but that is a mere side-effect which adds to the immense lust of this kinky little play of theirs.

" _Mm_. Now now, Will. You mustn't move too much. I've hardly finished my meal yet," Hannibal chides, milking every bit of his dominant position above the other man exposed and growing agitatedly affected by the lack of attention to his arousal.

A maroon line of sight flickers north to glimpse at a stunning face contorted with eyes closed, just past a chest now labouring harder with every subsequent breath of the warm dining room air. Not a man is more beautiful than William Graham, there is not a man more a masterpiece than William Graham…Hannibal is positively certain of it. With that head tilted back and a spine mildly arched, toes curling at the tips of his bare feet, Will looks sweeter than indulgent dessert, writhing like a stranded man in need of an oasis. _That_ is how very badly he desires Hannibal's mouth on his cock rather than exploring his overly-sensitized body. So many minutes have passed as the doctor takes his sweet time eating and enjoying his meal, and that leaves the poor younger male at a whining loss. Will can't help himself, and he's not above begging for more, but for now he remains silent at the low, chastising tone. Barely silent, mind you. He still cannot seem to help the lustful groans and moans that spill forth almost unconsciously from his constricting throat, body reacting appropriately to this spell-binding experience of being served upon the serial killer's table.

Along that scar, the skin rugged and darker at the edges than the mangled skin warped along the curve of it, the very tip of Hannibal's tongue traces a line. Tasting and admiring his work fully must bring a great deal of pleasure, for his gaze very nearly goes unfocused and hazy at the recollection of the scar's origin. The lapse is fleeting, however, and by the time Will's eyes have opened to glance down at the doctor, it is gone.

When Hannibal has chewed and swallowed the very last piece, Will watches on with blue eyes surrounding dilated pupils, the hues of those orbs turning from a shade of fresh crest of summer waves, instead to the murky depths at the bottom of the most dangerous sea. Dark and blurry is that line of sight, obscured by being denied a release, locked up in this moment so sensual and real that Will feels he can hardly endure more of it. That's the very last piece of sushi there, all ate up by the cannibal's wicked teeth and tongue, and now where does that leave Will Graham? It leaves him painfully aroused and erect, throbbing for attention as his toned, tanned body squirms and writhes in a soft flame of heat, and his thighs are quivering and instinctively parting. At his aides upon the table are arms that still do not move even though he is clean of the food– Hannibal wouldn't approve, would he? Indeed he would not. The good boy must remain in his intended position until Hannibal may release him from it. And so Will audibly and visibly struggles to remain so very still that his fingernails dig _hard_ into his fisted palms, and his cock is teased by a mouth so close, so _fucking_ close, but never quite touching.

"Have you enjoyed this, Will?"

Comes a sudden question thrown up into the air without shame of guise, just as the shaky and tight-throated reply that echoes back beneath a blue gaze struggling to keep focus on that head of slick hair and devilish eyes right down at his crotch.

"Y-Yes. … _Please_ …"

Oh, that is perfection. Here Will isn't entirely surer that he's begging for Hannibal to put that skillful mouth on his weeping cock, but the doctor is entirely sure that this is the case. Either way, Hannibal is indulgent as ever, and supposes that a fitting retaliation is in order, now that his very own cock is hot and unyieldingly hard in his pants as well. Will has been such a delicious and obedient boy in this…mm, it would only be fair.

No lavish teasing or edging comes into play this time. The cannibal is well-fed and sated, and while he himself does not further desire a sexual gratification even in spite of his obvious erection straining lewdly against his pressed, expensive suit slacks, Hannibal is always more than happy to provide a release to his beloved. A creamy _dessert_ for his own meal, in a sense.

Firm lips are upon that thick, engorged cock before Will has any time to brace himself for the inevitable onslaught of mind-numbing pleasure. When one's lover is a gourmand with a skillful mouth bearing a perfect palate, sharp teeth and a tongue too perfect for this world, no gag reflex in the slightest, it is a wonderful experience to possess the male sex. Straight away, Will is groaning out and straining for purchase, bordering on the edge of breaking from his invisible restraints. Hips buck forward and while he wants to shove them harder skyward to fuck that deliciously warm mouth around him, all the empath can do is throw his head back and use one hand to grip the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles go white as a ghost. Spine arches with as much force as a twig snapping, bringing Will's heels digging down into the table to study himself there. Every nerve feels aflame, every muscle is taut.

" _Fuck_ , H-Hannibal…"

Even the words that escape are wild with pleasure, laced with madness of enduring the undulations around his most sensitive area. Hannibal works Will perfectly, and even so without the use of his hands. Mouth alone bobs upon that length, tongue gliding up along the underside on every rise, lapping and sucking in to hollow his cheeks on every lowering back down. When the salty, leaking tip his the back of his throat, the doctor makes no sound aside from an audible and hard swallow. If that was any provocation for the empath to release, it works immediately like a charm.

Few coherent words aside from the Lithuanian's name fill the air, in a melody of curses and heavy, wheezing breaths, and gasps, keens, and whimpers. Immensely pleasing, and as tasteful and fulfilling as the thick release that spurts into Hannibal's mouth without warning, coating his tongue and teeth, the _sounds_ from Will are preternaturally charged and beyond engaging for the doctor. A wet dream, come to life before his very own keen eyes.

Will is still writhing in the wake of a powerful release by the time Hannibal pulls back and straightens on his feet, standing before the table edge. The younger is covered in thin streaks of drying saliva and sticky sweat and soy sauce here and there, arched and taut and breathless. Meanwhile the doctor is positively composed and calm, smiling while wiping the sides of his mouth with silken serviette after a perfectly delicious meal of a lifetime…as if his straining erection isn't obvious at his crotch and the only offset to his almost angelic and neat disposition just then.

"…And dessert as well. What an unexpected pleasure, Will," comes the inevitable tease from the older male, coupled with a smile that crinkles even the corners of his eyes, genuine and content.

That contentment is mirror back upon Will's face just the same…though he seems to be a bit more flushed and timid in the wake of realizing what had just happened between them.

"Hah–…" Comes Will's response, a breathless and mildly trepidatious bark of chuckle beneath his breath, accented by the thick swallowing of parched throat panting quietly still. Of course the damn doctor would make a show of it, fun of it, and do it so well and handsomely that the empath could never possibly find fault. He's too good, as usual. Overwhelming the empath, as usual.

"Thank you very much, Will, for this," is spoken in a more finely tuned tone now, accent gentle and genuine. "I thoroughly enjoyed this meal. …Would it be accurate to say that you perhaps enjoyed this as much as I have?"

Or so he hopes. So he is almost entirely certain.

"I-I…I think… _yes_. Mm."

"Excellent. And now what would _you_ like for dinner?"

Hannibal is just about so lean down and press a soft kiss upon Will's lips, but the younger male already has other plans. He is smiling to match that of the doctor above him, and a shaky palm is bracing to tabletop to help push himself upright. Now when Will's gaze meets Hannibal's, there is a renewed devious darkness there, a taste of flesh and the heady and unique scent of sex, salt, and flowers fresh in the air. The sight sends a delightful chill down Hannibal's spine, raising chilly bumps on his clothed arms, and Will's single demanding word is just as lovely:

" _You_."

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, don't forget to leave kudos and comments. They inspire me and make me smile.
> 
> Please consider [buying me a coffee for a fic](https://ko-fi.com/murakistags)!


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